The house was quiet. Too quiet.
Larissa hadn't meant to fall asleep in the study, but exhaustion had dragged her under after the confrontation with Lukyan. When she woke, the fire had burned to ash and dawn light filtered weakly through frost-covered windows.
Her muscles ached. Her heart worse.
She thought about Elena's words. About the photo of Lukyan, the haunting expression of the unconscious girl, the thick files in her bag—now locked in the cabinet across the room.
Everything in her life was unraveling, and the one man she couldn't trust was the one man who could help her stop it.
The knock came softly.
"Larissa?" Lukyan's voice was quieter than usual.
She didn't move. Didn't answer.
The door creaked open anyway.
He stepped inside, barefoot, his shirt wrinkled, eyes shadowed. For a moment, he just looked at her.
"I didn't sleep," he said.
"Me neither," she murmured.
He moved to the edge of the fireplace and crouched, stoking the coals. "We don't have much time."
"To stop Dmitri?"
He nodded. "I traced the funding line. It splits into three charities. One of them is a front located in Geneva. I need to go there."
She sat up straighter. "You're leaving?"
"For a few days."
"Lukyan, I—" She hesitated. "There's something else."
His eyes sharpened.
"I think Dmitri's trying to sabotage our contract. He wants me to leave you early… so he can use the clause about asset forfeiture."
Lukyan stilled. "That clause was never meant to be used."
"I know," she whispered. "But if I walk now, I lose everything. The foundation. The kids' trusts. He'll take it all."
The fire cracked between them.
Lukyan stood slowly, came to her side. "Then don't leave."
She met his eyes. "And what? Stay married to a man I can't trust?"
He reached into his pocket. Pulled out a small object.
A silver flash drive.
"What's this?"
"My confession."
She blinked.
"Every file I kept. The truth—about Dmitri, about the research, about the children we couldn't save. I was going to destroy it. But if you're staying, even for now… you deserve to know who you married."
Larissa stared at it.
Her throat thickened.
And still, she reached out, fingers closing around the drive.
"I'll read it," she said.
He gave a single nod. "You may hate me afterward."
"I already do," she whispered.
Lukyan flinched.
But then she added, "And yet, I still want to fight beside you."
Later that night…
Larissa couldn't sleep.
The children were tucked in. The hallway was quiet. But her mind spun with images—photos, diagrams, names she couldn't pronounce. The weight of Lukyan's secrets pressed into her skin like frostbite.
She wrapped herself in a robe and wandered downstairs.
He was in the kitchen, a glass of vodka in hand, staring out the window at the snowy estate.
She stopped in the doorway. "Do you remember the night you proposed?"
He turned.
His mouth twitched. "It wasn't romantic."
"You gave me a contract and a pen."
"I also gave you freedom. Eventually."
"You gave me a cage," she said. "But you lined it with gold."
He said nothing.
She walked to him, barefoot. Stopped just a breath away. "Do you ever wonder what we would've been… without the deal?"
"All the time," he admitted.
Her heart cracked open.
She stepped closer. Let herself lean into his warmth. Let herself feel again.
"Then kiss me," she whispered. "Not as my husband. Not as the man who made me sign. Kiss me as the man who stayed."
Lukyan didn't hesitate.
He set the glass down.
And then he kissed her—slow, desperate, full of regret and something too dangerous to name. His arms wrapped around her like she was breaking, and maybe she was.
When they pulled apart, they didn't speak.
But something between them had shifted again.
Not just survival. Not just revenge.
Something that tasted a little like love.